The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1887-05-19

The wedding day was nxed Tor Oc-
tober, and Mark Pendleton returned to
Philadelphia to prepare home for his
bride. 1t was August when he left
Wildhaven, and May had great piles of
sewing to accomplish, but her lovers
parting words were:
Don't work too hard, my darling.
/ want my little wife's face as fair as
spring itself when | come to claim
her."
Before he had been gone two weeks
Wildhaven was thrown into terror
stricken suffering by the breaking out
of contagious fever that spread with
lightning rapidly through the entire
village. 1t was so violent, so fatal
that every one spared actual sickness
was busy in the care of friend or rela'
tive.
May forgot her dainty stitching and
ruffling, her coming wedding, and even
her happiness, in the suffering around
her. In the fearful, scorching heat of
long August drought she worked over
a hot cooking-stove, preparing delica-
cies for the sick, and carried them her.
self to the sufferers, the scorching sun
beating down on her with dry, burn
ing heat Often she found the nurse
of Yesterday the invalid of to-day, and
would remain night after night tend
ing the worse cases under her fathers
care, more than once ending her duty
by dressing the still form of dearly
loved friend for the grave.
Her father guarded her by prevent
tives and precautions as far as possible,
but he never stopped her.
"She is doing the work of her Heav
emily Father; he will protect her." was
his answer to some friendly remon-
strances, and for long time it SEEM
ed as if the maiden bore indeed a
charmed life.
The fever had run its course,
when, in September, cool, wet
week broke the oppressive, heat, and no
new cases occurred afterward except
one. But all, that one tore the doc
tors heart-strings more than all the
rest, for in her room, tossing in
deirious agony, May called pitifully
for the father she did not recognize,
the lover, absent from her, the friends
gone from earth forever Over and
over again she lived the painful scenes
of the past few weeks, and Mrs. Wells,
her faithful nurse, knew she stood
very near the grave for many long
days.
May did not know when Mark PEN
dleton was sent for and admitted to the
darkened room, for what they feared
was last gaze at his promised wife;
she did not know when all the glori-
GUS profusion of her golden hair was
shorn of, to place bladders of ice upon
her head she knew nothing for many,
many days, till, waking from long,
deep sleep, she saw, with clear, COM
pretending eyes, her fathers faco
bending over her.
She smiled, wondering where her
voice had gone, as she said, family;
Father
And he, softly kissing her eyelids, as
they closed again, only murmured;
THANK God! my child is spared to
me-"
There was long convalescence, ana
after May could sit up and be dressed
she wondered where her mirror and
hand-glass had vanished. Mrs. Wells
muttered something about "Eliza's so
careless, always breaking something" "
and her father called her 'little vanity"
with a quivering smile. when she asked
for them.
Even when Mark came, as he did
several times, Mrs. Wells dressed her,
tied on the lace cap that covered her
poor, bald head, and "said sick folks
weren't expected to prink."
But one day, when she felt nearly
well, she stole down to the sitting-room
alone, and looked full in the mirror
over the mantlepiece.
She knew then why she had been so
tenderly guarded from the shock of
seeing her own face. A border of huted
lace replaced her splendid hair, and a
uniform deep pink color was spread
like mask over her whole face. Her
eyes were sunken, and a strange, UNI
natural ugliness seemed to have usurped
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